by David Wood
“No!”
Maddock was on his knees, a red stain creeping out from under his right arm. Over his shoulder, the remaining paramilitary was leveling his MP5 at Maddock’s head.
Willis looked around frantically for the gun his fallen opponent had held, spotted it and started to reach for it, but knew he’d never be able to pick it up, aim, and fire in time to save Maddock’s life.
Then he realized he had an alternative in the palm of his hand.
With a slight adjustment of his grip, he drew back and hurled the KA-BAR across the room. He used a non-rotational throw, so that the blade flew straight through the air like a dart and buried itself to the hilt in the gunman’s eye.
As the paramilitary went down, his weapon unfired, Maddock’s head came up. He threw a glance over his shoulder, saw Willis, and nodded in gratitude, and then wobbled a little as if he was about to pass out.
“Hang on, brother,” Willis muttered, and tried to rise. He wasn’t in much better shape than Maddock. His head was throbbing, both from the clubbing he’d taken and the head butt that had ended the battle, but as he hadn’t lost consciousness, he figured those were survivable injuries. The knife wound in his side might be another matter. The sharp blade of the KA-BAR had definitely sliced him, piercing his lower left flank, right above the hip bone. He didn’t think it had hit anything vital, but blood was seeping from the wound. He needed to get a bandage on it, maybe even some stitches to hold everything together. Hopefully, Bones was still—
“Bones!”
Willis turned toward the sound of the scream—Lia’s scream. He spotted Bones first, a hulking figure stalking toward the dais, and then he saw Lia. Behind her, mostly hidden from view, was Müller, and behind them both, hanging down like a curtain poised to fall at the end of a scene, was the Blood Flag.
Some trick of acoustics enabled him to hear every word spoken by the old Nazi.
“Swear allegiance before the Blutfahne. Do it, if you care about her.”
Willis felt a chill shoot through him as Müller gripped the flag. It wasn’t just a feeling of dread...The flag was like a black hole, sucking in the life force of everyone in the room... Everyone but Müller.
“Swear it!”
Bones swayed and looked as if he was about to pass out. Then he spoke, as if in a daze. “I... Swear...”
“Son of a bitch,” Willis shouted. “Bones! Fight it.”
The cry didn’t exactly break the spell, but it did get Müller’s attention. He turned his gaze toward Willis, and repeated his command. “Swear allegiance!”
Willis felt the life go out of him, along with all volition. He suddenly had no desire to oppose the wizened old man, who wasn’t really a Nazi after all, but a patriot... A hero who had led a decades-long secret war against America’s real enemies—the godless Communists of the Soviet Union. And even though that battle was won, there were other enemies waiting to fill the vacuum, ready to sweep across the world like a storm.
The only way to fight fire was with fire.
The only way to stop the storm was to become the storm.
It was all so clear to him.
He opened his mouth and—
A sharp report startled him out of the trance. Müller’s head snapped back. The Blood Flag seemed to swirl around him like a living thing—the tentacles of an octopus trying to snatch the old man up into a waiting maw. Lia gave a little shriek and squirmed out of his grip. Bones steadied, shook his head as if waking from a dream, and then ran to her.
Through the lifting fog, Willis saw Maddock, still on his knees, but with his left arm raised and stretched out toward the dais. Huntley’s SIG was in his left hand, smoke curling from the barrel.
“Nice shooting,” Willis remarked. “And with your left hand.”
Maddock managed a wan smile. “My right isn’t working so good at the moment.”
He had taken a big chance firing with his non-dominant hand. If he’d been off by even a degree, his round might have taken Lia instead, but given the alternative, the greater risk would have been doing nothing.
He set the gun aside and probed his injuries with the fingers of his left hand. One bullet had punched clear through his right biceps. The flesh around the wounds had swollen almost double in size. Another round had grazed his ribs, carving a groove about as wide across as his pinkie finger and twice as long. Both wounds hurt like hell, but he didn’t think either would be life threatening.
“How bad?” Willis asked.
“I’ll live.” As he said it, he glimpsed Leopov from the corner of his eye. She lay supine, as if merely asleep, but her eyes were open. A thin trail of blood ran from the dark hole above the bridge of her nose, and down across her cheek like a tear.
He tore his gaze away, looked at Willis again. “You?”
“I could use a Band-Aid.”
“Yeah. Me, too. Bones...” He looked up to the dais where Bones was holding Lia in his arms. The big man looked as exhausted as Maddock felt, but he gave a nod of acknowledgement. “If you’re done up there,” Maddock went on, “we could use a hand getting patched up.”
Bones glanced back at the Blutfahne. “What about that thing?”
Maddock’s answer was immediate and unequivocal. “Burn it”
“I’m afraid I can’t let you do that.”
The smooth, almost seductive baritone, which came from the rear of the hall was familiar, but it was the accent that was most recognizable.
The Russian accent.
TWENTY-FOUR
“Telesh.” Maddock wheeled around, groping for the SIG with his left hand, but before he could grasp it, the voice called out again.
“That is very bad idea, Mr. Maddock. I am not alone. I would prefer not to stain Helen’s Charm with any more blood, but I will if I must.”
Maddock left the pistol where it was.
“Very good,” Telesh said. “Stay right where you are. I am coming out now.”
It was not Sergei Yukovitch Telesh that stepped through the doorway however, but another familiar figure—a hulking figure with dull eyes and an ugly bruise that darkened his face like a mask. Tweedledum.
Tweedledee was right behind him, but they were only the vanguard. Six more men, along with one woman—the alluring Nadia—strode in behind the pair, every single one of them armed with a pistol. Maddock recognized a couple of the men from the group that had chased him and Leopov—
Zara! I’m sorry!
—through Moscow. The others were strangers to him. They spread out across the breadth of the hall, forming a picket line even more impenetrable than Müller’s paramilitaries. Only then did Telesh appear, with one more man following behind him like a loyal pet.
“Petrov,” Maddock said.
“Oleg?” Lia cried out in dismay. “How can you be here? I thought you were...” She trailed off as realization dawned. “You are working with this gangster? How could you?”
“I think Nadia there might have had something to do with it,” Maddock muttered.
Petrov ducked his head in evident embarrassment, all but confirming Maddock’s supposition.
Bones shrugged. “Well, she’s smoking hot. Can you blame him?”
“Nadia certainly provided an enticement,” Telesh said, stepping forward. “But Oleg Ivanovitch was only trying to save his own skin. I almost had him killed after he tried to warn you, Lia. I am glad now that I spared him. I could not have found this place without his help.”
Maddock shook his head, bewildered. “He only knew we were going to Argentina.”
“True, but that was enough. Agents of the Sluzhba Vneshney Razvedki picked up your trail as soon as you arrived, and followed you when you left.”
“The Foreign Intelligence Service,” Lia said, translating almost automatically. “You are working with SVR? I thought you were Bratva? A criminal.”
“Like there’s a difference,” Bones put in.
Telesh laughed. “Are you making joke, or are you just hypocrite. Most po
werful man in your intelligence service was escaped Nazi. Oh, yes. I heard everything.” He shrugged. “I am pleased he’s dead. You deserve medal for killing him.”
Bones wagged his head. “When a Russian gangster calls you a hero...”
Telesh’s eyes narrowed into cruel slits. “There is that word again. Gangster. Why don’t you ask Mr. Maddock what happened the last time someone called me ‘gangster’?” He flicked a meaningful look at Lia. “Gangster is word weak men use to insult powerful men. But I do not think very many people will call me gangster now.” He looked past them to the flag hanging over the dais, and started toward it. “They will worship me.”
As if anticipating some act of desperate defiance, Nadia took a step toward Maddock and the others, brandishing her pistol. “Don’t move. One move and you die. All of you.”
Maddock clenched his fists—or tried to. His right managed only a pathetic curl. “You’re just going to kill us anyway.”
“Might as well go out in a blaze of glory,” Bones said in a low voice.
Willis seconded the suggestion. “I’m down.”
“He doesn’t want to kill you,” Petrov squeaked. “All he wants is Helen’s Charm. Let him have it, and he’ll let us go.”
“Us?” Maddock retorted. “You’re not part of us anymore, Petrov.”
Telesh stopped, glanced back. “You don’t want him?” He shrugged. “Well I don’t need him anymore. Nadia.”
Nadia immediately turned her gun on Petrov.
“Wait!” Maddock shouted. As pissed off at Petrov as he was, he couldn’t bear to see anyone else gunned down in cold blood. Nadia shot a glance at Telesh. When the gangster merely shrugged again, she lowered her weapon and then gestured for Petrov to join Maddock and the others.
When he reached them, Petrov seemed to be on the verge of tears. “Forgive me, Lia. I had no choice. He said that if I helped him, he would let all of you live.”
Bones rolled his eyes. “And if you shove essential oils up your butt, you can cure cancer.”
“Man, is this really the time?” Willis mumbled.
“There’s never a bad time for calling out stupidity.”
Willis flashed a puzzled frown. “Do you stick the whole bottle up there?”
“Petrov is right,” Telesh said loudly, resuming his trek up to the dais. “I could have you all killed, but that would be very...” He stopped abruptly, his eyes coming to rest on Leopov’s unmoving form. He frowned and then stepped around her. “Very messy. One of you might survive long enough to do something desperate. What did the big Red Indian say? ‘Blaze of glory,’ da? Maybe hurt me or one of my associates. Maybe damage Helen’s Charm. I don’t want that. All I want is the flag.”
Maddock and the others watched, impotently, as Telesh stepped up onto the dais and moved to the rear wall where he reached up and removed the flag’s staff from its wall mount. The Blutfahne must have been heavier than it looked because it dipped suddenly, the wooden pole twisting out of Telesh’s grip, and fell to the floor, completely covering Müller’s corpse. Maddock wondered why he hadn’t just asked one of the Tweedles to get it for him, but then realized that the Russian probably didn’t trust anyone else with the power of Helen’s Charm.
Telesh gave a disapproving grunt, but promptly knelt and began patiently sliding the flag’s sewn sleeve down the length of the staff. With this task completed, he haphazardly folded the flag, then tucked it under his arm and started back down the hall. When he reached Nadia’s side, he turned and faced Maddock again.
“I know what you are thinking,” he said. “Now that I have Helen’s Charm, I will kill you anyway.”
“The thought crossed my mind,” Maddock admitted, though in truth, knowing what the Blutfahne could do—what it could make others do—a quick death was not the worst possible outcome. “I know how you feel about tying up those loose ends.”
Telesh smiled. “You are worth far more to me alive. Do you want to know why? I want you to tell what happened here. All of it.”
“Seriously?” Bones asked, without a trace of sarcasm. “Have you got a death wish or something?”
Telesh laughed. “What do I have to fear? I did not shelter a war criminal for nearly six decades.”
Now Maddock understood. “That’s what you really want. For us to tell the world about Müller and his shadow army, and how the CIA colluded with former Nazis.”
“And why not? It’s all true. You call me gangster. America is gangster nation. And when the world finally learns truth about it, it will be end of American hegemony. The NATO alliance will fall apart, and when it does, I will lead a glorious new Russian empire into the Twenty-first Century. With this.” He thrust the bundled flag at them.
“What makes you think we’ll talk? Or that anyone will listen to us?”
“I know you will try. You are a white knight.”
Maddock recalled Jimmy’s comment about sunlight being the best disinfectant. While he agreed in principle, the thought of being responsible for exposing a scandal that might completely upset the global balance of power gave him pause. But that was tomorrow’s problem. The only thing that mattered right now was destroying the Blutfahne, or at the very least, keeping Telesh from taking it out of the country.
Okay, so he doesn’t want to kill us, he thought. I can work with that.
There were four perfectly good MP5s scattered about the room, and one of the dead paramilitaries had the bag with their personal weapons in it.
Telesh must have read his mind. “One thing. Since I can’t very well have you following me, I had my men wire the house upstairs with explosives. Semtex. Wired into the house’s alarm system.” Almost as an afterthought, he added, “SVR is very good at getting alarm codes. If you try to follow, house will blow up.” He made a little explosion with his fingers.
Maddock glanced over at Petrov.
The historian, correctly interpreting the unasked question, nodded. “I saw them wiring blocks of plastique all over house.”
“Someone will come save you eventually,” Telesh said. “By then, we will be far, far away from here.”
And then, as if that was the final word on the subject, the gangster turned and headed for the exit. The rest of the Russians backed away, keeping their weapons leveled at the group as they, one by one, slipped through the doors. Nadia was the last to leave, and before she went, offered a final warning.
“You will stay put if you know what’s good for you.”
“What’s your hurry, babe?” Bones said. “Why don’t you hang around a bit, get to know me. I know Maddock can be kind of a stiff, but I dig Russian chicks.”
She gave him a disgusted look and muttered something under her breath—it wasn’t do svidanya—and then she too was gone.
Maddock turned to the others. “You think he really plans to let us walk out of here?”
Bones shook his head. “I wouldn’t bet on it.”
“I don’t understand,” Petrov said, looking puzzled. “You heard what he said. He wants you to tell the world about all this.”
“I’m sure he does,” Maddock said. “But he also knows that we’re going to do everything we can to stop him, first. And we are.”
“But the bombs—”
“Are probably going to detonate as soon as they get clear of the house. Even if we aren’t killed in the blast, it will take days to sift through the rubble, giving Telesh all the time he needs to get out of the country. We need to find another way out of here.”
“The tram?” Bones suggested.
“That’s what I’m thinking,” Maddock replied. “Go see if you can get it running. If not, we’ll have to walk.”
“You realize it probably comes out in some deep dark basement at the CIA,” Bones went on. “They aren’t exactly going to be pleased to see us. Especially when they find out what happened here.”
“I’m hoping that not everyone in the CIA is a secret Nazi. Either way, I suspect they’ll want to know about Telesh.”
> “Fair enough,” Bones said, and started for the exit. The others followed, but Maddock turned and headed back to Leopov.
He knelt beside her and gently pulled her eyelids down. He considered trying to brush away the blood, but knew it would probably only make it look even worse. But for that and the hole between her eyes, he thought it might be possible to believe she was merely asleep.
Swallowing down the lump of emotion in his throat, he whispered, “I’m sorry.”
And he was. Not just for getting her killed, but for all the times he had doubted her, questioned her loyalty... Refused what she had willingly offered.
That was the worst thing about losing someone. Not just that they were gone, but all the things forever left unsaid.
He slid his left arm under her legs, and tried to reach under her shoulders with his right, but his injured arm could not bear her weight.
“Damn it,” he whispered, angrily.
He felt a hand on his shoulder. Bones.
“Let me.” The big man’s voice was uncharacteristically soft.
Maddock swallowed again, nodded, and moved aside to let Bones bear her in his arms.
The tram was electrically powered and proved simple enough to operate. It had just two settings—forward and reverse—and a maximum acceleration that felt about like a jogging pace. The two-way train had bright headlights to illuminate the journey through the tunnel, which was round and smooth, like the inside of a giant concrete pipe, save for the bed of gravel upon which the tracks rested. A third rail situated between the other two was intermittently marked with yellow signs displaying red lightning bolts and the words: “Danger—High Voltage.” If Maddock’s mental map was accurate, the CIA complex was less than half a mile away—a distance they could cover in about three or four minutes.
Ninety seconds into the journey, the lights went out and all motion abruptly ceased.
Maddock instantly knew what this signified. “Everybody down!”
A moment later, a hot wind blew up the tunnel from behind them, followed immediately by a deafening concussion and a vibration like a magnitude seven earthquake. It felt to Maddock like the detonation had completely destroyed the house and dropped the rubble entirely into the hidden sublevel.
